<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Too Unusual by LetteredConverse (SourSunsOfLonelyClouds)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088504">Too Unusual</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourSunsOfLonelyClouds/pseuds/LetteredConverse'>LetteredConverse (SourSunsOfLonelyClouds)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Break Up, College, Footnotes, Harry Potter References, Homoeroticism, Multi, but it's VERY VERY SUBTLE so I apologize for its misrepresentation, implied polyamory, realistic fiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:15:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourSunsOfLonelyClouds/pseuds/LetteredConverse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Presenting a typical breakup scenario...but under the surface reveals that it's not so typical after all. In fact, it takes the concept of "it's complicated" and just rolls with it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Too Unusual</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this two years ago in a collaboration class in college, and I would name the writer who started this story except, 1) I've changed it heavily even since I last wrote and worked on it two years ago, and 2) I'm using my discretion that I don't think he would actually want to be associated with this story. However, if it makes a difference to you just comment and I will properly credit.</p>
<p>I would, however, like to credit in advance the main inspiration which informed how this story progressed, and that is "When You Were Mine" covered by Cyndi Lauper (originally written and recorded by Prince). I make a pretty obvious reference to the artist, so I thought it was only fair!</p>
<p>Also, there are a lot of footnotes in this. No apologies, just a heads-up.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Erica lay motionless in her bed. Misery settled into her limbs and her mind, occupying her entire body. The lights were off. She didn’t want them on. <a id="retn1" name="retn1"></a>She rolled over and looked at her alarm clock. 4:28 PM glared at her in red. And still nothing.</p>
<p>
The covers grew warmer and warmer with every passing moment, the storm of thoughts and doubts and memories<sup><a href="#nt1">1</a></sup> wreaking havoc in her mind. The blankets seemed to wrap themselves tighter and tighter around her body. Erica kicked them away violently. Doing nothing wouldn’t help.</p>
<p>
<i>Maybe some homework.</i> She opened her laptop, clicking through folders and opening files, Word documents, anything. Scanning a poetry assignment, she searched for some error, a weak metaphor or any place where imagery could be improved. She was satisfied with the assignment, but she wasn’t satisfied. She checked the time: 4:39.</p>
<p>
Erica closed the document and opened her web browser, opting to check her email. Gmail revealed nothing new; just spam, ads, and an email a friend sent weeks ago which she still hadn’t responded to.<sup><a href="#nt2">2</a></sup> <a id="retn2" name="retn2"></a>She clicked the Facebook icon sitting boldly in her bookmarks toolbar: no new messages, no notifications. She scrolled through her feed, each meme and photo of fake-happy people she barely knew whizzing by. Walls of text blurred together, seeming to repeat the same shit over and over.</p>
<p>
<i>This isn’t helping,</i> Erica thought. She sat hunched over the screen, tapping her fingertips. Anxiety overtook her mind then, seeming to distract her from her sorrow. As she tried to focus on planning what to do next, her arm began to stretch toward her phone as if it had a mind of its own. She fought against the urge, but her brain wouldn’t comply as she picked it up off her nightstand. Her hands defiantly tapped out her security code and brought up Alex’s text. Sent at 2:17 PM.</p>
<p>
<i>We’re through.</i></p>
<p>
Erica set her phone down, tears streaming down her face. <i>What went wrong? Why did he only send me a text? Am I</i> that <i>unimportant?</i> These worries and more flooded her mind to the breaking point. Erica slammed her laptop shut and threw her phone across the room, wailing in agony.</p>
<p>
Between sobs, she noticed a knock sound on the other side of her door. “Erica?” asked Josie, her roommate. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>
Erica stifled her tears. “Yeah,” she sniffled. “I’m fine."<sup><a href="#nt3">3</a></sup><a id="retn3" name="retn3"></a></p>
<p>
“Can I come in?”</p>
<p>
Before Erica could reply, Josie opened the door and flicked the overhead light on. “Oh, you look awful!<sup><a href="#nt4">4</a></sup> What happened?”<a id="retn4" name="retn4"></a></p>
<p>
Erica rubbed her eyes. “Nothing."<sup><a href="#nt5">5</a></sup><a id="retn5" name="retn5"></a></p>
<p>
“It’s okay, Erica,” Josie said, sitting down beside her on the bed. “You can tell me.”</p>
<p>
Erica saw her miserable appearance reflected in Josie’s consoling eyes and felt her nose prickle again, more tears threatening to spill over. “Alex—” Erica choked up. All she could think of was the fun they’d had at parties, the days spent together in class and making sure they had the same classes, the nights spent studying for finals, and the text.<sup><a href="#nt6">6</a></sup><a id="retn6" name="retn6"></a></p>
<p>
“What about Alex?” Josie asked. Her brow furrowed with worry, though Erica caught how it quirked for a split second.</p>
<p>
“He– he broke up with me.” Erica burst into tears at the statement.</p>
<p>
“Oh, Erica.” Josie embraced her, letting her cry into her shoulder. “Everything will be okay."<sup><a href="#nt7">7</a></sup><a id="retn7" name="retn7"></a></p>
<p>
“How?” Erica gasped. “We’ve been together since freshman year. It’s been <i>four years</i>.”</p>
<p>
<a id="retn8" name="retn8"></a>“Well, so have we.<sup><a href="#nt8">8</a></sup> And I’m here for you.” Erica looked up at her. Through her obscured vision from her long, dark brown hair falling into her face, she saw a hopeful smile. “Just remember you’re not alone."<sup><a href="#nt9">9</a></sup> <a id="retn9" name="retn9"></a></p>
<p>
Erica nodded, falling tears beginning to slow. If only feeling better was that quick. Unfortunately, not for something like this. “I just don’t know, like...what I did wrong."<sup><a href="#nt10">10</a></sup><a id="retn10" name="retn10"></a></p>
<p>
“Well, what did he say?”</p>
<p>
The opportunity to vent presented itself right away, so Erica rolled her eyes and began, patting the bed with both hands for emphasis. A beginning.</p>
<p>
“Well, first of all, he texted me.”</p>
<p>
Josie’s eyes widened. “He <i>texted</i> you?”</p>
<p>
Erica nodded and looked away then, a flash of fury animating her features, her lips shaping into a near-snarl. “Yeah. Apparently he didn’t have the decency to talk to me face to face or something, you know, like normal people who don’t have problems communicating<sup><a href="#nt11">11</a></sup> do?”<a id="retn11" name="retn11"></a></p>
<p>
Josie’s eyebrows turned down in sympathy. “Well, what did he say?”</p>
<p>
“‘We’re through,’” Erica mocked in a falsely deep voice. Her roommate just sat there for a few seconds, even leaning forward, as though waiting for more.</p>
<p>
“That’s it?” Josie asked after a few seconds longer, her green eyes wide in disbelief.</p>
<p>
“That’s. It.”</p>
<p>
“Holy shit.” Josie paused for a few speechless seconds before launching into a tirade fit appropriately for a roommate of four years. “You know, I would’ve expected more from him. He just doesn’t seem like the guy to <i>end a four year relationship over text</i> - and not just a <i>text</i>, but he only gave you <i>two words</i> for explanation! What the <i>fuck</i>!?”</p>
<p>
Erica’s mouth turned up slightly before she nodded. She had to admit, it felt good that someone was as upset about this as she was. It made her feel less crazy, less insignificant. There was no way<sup><a href="#nt12">12</a></sup> she was in the wrong.<a id="retn12" name="retn12"></a></p>
<p>
“Right?! I just– I don’t understand…” she started before her vision blurred again. Josie reached forward to hug her again, and Erica fell against her roommate’s chest.</p>
<p>
“Hey,” Josie tried after a few minutes filled with Erica’s quiet weeping, “Just because this douche bag dumped you doesn’t mean you’re not worth more, Erica. You know that, right? You’re worth more than a shitty text and a handful of characters."<sup><a href="#nt13">13</a></sup><a id="retn13" name="retn13"></a></p>
<p>
Erica snorted out a laugh, breaking the companionable misery, and she moved out of Josie’s grasp to wipe her tears away. Her roommate looked at her with a soft, sympathetic smile.</p>
<p>
“You mean I’m worth more than The Golden Trio?” Erica asked. “What about the whole Gryffindor house?”</p>
<p>
Josie<sup><a href="#nt14">14</a></sup> let out a ringing laugh.<a id="retn14" name="retn14"></a> “Oh my god. Of course you would go there.”</p>
<p>
“Well!” Erica justified with a sweep of her arms to indicate her bedroom, a grin lighting up her face. Josie’s eyes briefly scanned the dark blue, black, and silver theme decorating Erica’s room. A custom-made crocheted Ravenclaw crest banner hung in the corner of her room above her bedside table. A stuffed brown eagle sat on the bed beside the pillow behind her.</p>
<p>
“I know, I know,” Josie said with a slight eye-roll and a fond smile. A comfortable silence fell over them as Erica picked at her comforter; a thread was unraveling from the seam of her black polyester blanket.</p>
<p>
“So?” Erica finally asked, looking up at her roommate expectantly.</p>
<p>
“So…?”</p>
<p>
“So, am I worth more than the whole Gryffindor house?”</p>
<p>
Josie smirked and picked at a hangnail on her right hand. “Depends<sup><a href="#nt15">15</a></sup> - does that include future generations?”<a id="retn15" name="retn15"></a></p>
<p>
Erica laughed and gently socked her on the arm. “You know <i>he’s</i> a Gryffindor.”</p>
<p>
“I know! That’s why I was making sure. Even <i>you’re</i> worth more than his future <i>spawn</i>."<sup><a href="#nt16">16</a></sup> <a id="retn16" name="retn16"></a></p>
<p>
“That’s only if you believe the sorting hat takes tradition into account.”</p>
<p>
“And <i>clearly</i> I do which is why I was asking.”</p>
<p>
Erica smiled at her before shaking her head, though the smile remained resolutely on her face. “I guess so.”</p>
<p>
“In that case, <i>yes</i>,” Josie announced proudly. She giggled, and then Erica giggled in response, and then before they knew it they were rolling around on Erica’s bed, holding their sides and laughing hysterically. Red and dark brown tresses mingled, painting an autumnal motif across the plain shadowy comforter. There was no Gryffindor there, in spirit or color. Not really,<sup><a href="#nt17">17</a></sup> at least.<a id="retn17" name="retn17"></a></p>
<p>
When their laughter finally began to subside, Erica wiped cheerful tears away from her eyes and looked at Josie gratefully. The redhead across from her mirrored her actions, and Erica glanced at her rosy cheeks. A lone pointing finger traveled across the bed to poke at Josie’s cheek, and a half-scoff, half-deflating noise caused giggles to erupt again.</p>
<p>
“God, you know I hate to laugh so much like that,” Josie said after a content sigh. “Makes my cheeks turn all red, and, you know - like my hair isn’t enough of that already?”</p>
<p>
“How come you don’t dye it, then, so you can be...maybe a brunette with really red cheeks after she laughs?”</p>
<p>
“And cries,” Josie corrected with a pointed look, which switched immediately as she continued her explanation. “Because I don’t believe in changing your look to suit someone else. Whoever gets with me is just going to have to put up with my fuckin’ red hair and cheeks together. A package deal.”</p>
<p>
Erica nodded before a look of comprehension flashed in her eyes. “And they will. They do.”</p>
<p>
Josie’s eyebrows knit together, and Erica reached out to poke at the fine auburn hairs closing in on the space of white skin that stretched to craft her nose. Josie grabbed her wrist as Erica went to pull her hand back. Anxiety briefly flickered across her features, making the freckles brushed across her cheeks seem new.</p>
<p>
“You don’t think…”</p>
<p>
Just as Josie’s eyebrows shifted back into place, Erica pulled her hand away and tucked it into her chest, close to her.</p>
<p>
“Does it matter?”</p>
<p>
Slowly, a smile pulled up the corners of Josie’s mouth, revealing two rows of opal teeth and one silver<sup><a href="#nt18">18</a></sup> crowned tooth. <a id="retn18" name="retn18"></a>Then she shrugged in a way that more than anything indicated she didn’t care.</p>
<p>
“Not anymore.”</p>
<p>
“Fuck him,” Erica whispered.</p>
<p>
“Yeah,” Josie agreed, still faintly smiling. “Fuck him.”</p>
<p><br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><a id="nt1" name="nt1"></a><sup>1</sup> Mostly, I wondered what I could have done differently. If it had mattered. If it had ever mattered. Honestly, I’m still not sure.<sup>[<a href="#retn1">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt2" name="nt2"></a><sup>2</sup> Now definitely wasn’t the time to do it, either. Maybe never would be.<sup>[<a href="#retn2">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt3" name="nt3"></a><sup>3</sup> Notice how everyone always says that, even when they’re not? Notice how society teaches us to lie since we’re —this— high? Everyone wonders when it went wrong. But I know.<sup>[<a href="#retn3">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt4" name="nt4"></a><sup>4</sup> No sugarcoating necessary, as you can see. I wasn’t about to complain, though. At least someone had the decency to tell me the truth.<sup>[<a href="#retn4">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt5" name="nt5"></a><sup>5</sup> Sometimes you lie because you’re too ashamed to tell the truth. Sometimes you lie to protect. The worst time to lie is when it’s both.<sup>[<a href="#retn5">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt6" name="nt6"></a><sup>6</sup> I still feel the need to lie. Why do I lie so much? Lies always start out so small and snowball so quickly that I wonder how we ever catch them.<sup>[<a href="#retn6">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt7" name="nt7"></a><sup>7</sup> She meant it. And somewhere, inside, I believed her.<sup>[<a href="#retn7">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt8" name="nt8"></a><sup>8</sup> As though I could have forgotten.<sup>[<a href="#retn8">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt9" name="nt9"></a><sup>9</sup> I used to think, because of the way I am, that I would end up alone, or at least that I would always be alone. When I met Josie, I worried about it less. But when I met Alex, I don’t know that the worry ever fully went away. It just dissipated a little bit.<sup>[<a href="#retn9">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt10" name="nt10"></a><sup>10</sup> A sort-of lie. I had an idea - one which had been eating me up for years and had nothing to do with Alex. I had always assumed it would be enough to drive anyone away. Everyone...except for Josie. I never expected her to understand, of all people, but I tried not to judge the way I’d always feared people would judge me if they knew. I was always taught to fear.<sup>[<a href="#retn10">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt11" name="nt11"></a><sup>11</sup> I don’t have a problem with communicating - it’s just the way I’ve been taught to communicate. Like they taught me that love never comes without pain. Nonconformity never comes without punishment. And a love that doesn’t conform to normalcy is a curse of eternal, painful consequence. You could say my models for communicating were...bad.<sup>[<a href="#retn11">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt12" name="nt12"></a><sup>12</sup> Denial. What a beautiful thing.<sup>[<a href="#retn12">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt13" name="nt13"></a><sup>13</sup> How many characters does it take to spell out ‘Fuck you’? How many characters does it take to spell out ‘I warned you about this four years ago but now you’ve left me a mess and that’s supposed to be okay?’<sup>[<a href="#retn13">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt14" name="nt14"></a><sup>14</sup> Who is a Slytherin, in case you were wondering.<sup>[<a href="#retn14">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt15" name="nt15"></a><sup>15</sup> She was playing with me, like she always does. She doesn’t give a damn about Gryffindor.<sup>[<a href="#retn15">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt16" name="nt16"></a><sup>16</sup> She didn’t even mean <i>us</i>, <i>my</i> spawn with him. Because she knew. ...well, she knew I wasn’t interested in spawning. And I don’t think he would have. Not with me, anyway. Sometimes you know ahead of time that you don’t need that kind of judgment in your life. Other times, it takes a while. Four years. You know.<sup>[<a href="#retn16">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt17" name="nt17"></a><sup>17</sup> Except he had been there, for the better part of four years. But the difference was what lay between that time, when he wasn’t there. I remember most when the clock was green, though sometimes time seemed red.<sup>[<a href="#retn17">return</a>]</sup><br/>
<a id="nt18" name="nt18"></a><sup>18</sup> The fact of the matter is that we’re all more than our houses, and we’re all connected in more ways than we allow ourselves to believe. Assumptions separate us while we think assumptions protect us. What we’re really doing is preventing our growth. And I’m through with that. Aren’t you?<sup>[<a href="#retn18">return</a>]</sup></p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>